


Like Snow on Glass

by geekprincess26



Series: Northern Lights [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: Joffrey Baratheon taught Sansa Stark not to trust handsome strangers.  Sansa's day takes an interesting turn when the handsomest stranger of them all leaves his glasses on the bus they ride together every day.





	Like Snow on Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riahchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahchan/gifts).



> For riahchan, with many thanks for that Tumblr bus prompt - and for waiting so patiently for me to fill it!

The bus gave an almighty lurch, and Sansa Stark felt a soft thud on the seat beside her as the vehicle braked. She glanced downward for the culprit and saw a familiar pair of owl-eyed glasses with golden brown rims perched on the blue patterned seat. They belonged to none other than Mr. Handsome Professor, the raven-headed stranger who barely ever looked up from whichever science fiction novel he happened to be reading at the moment. He was always sitting in the same seat when she boarded the bus in the mornings, and he always disembarked at Winterfell University’s massive engineering complex halfway across the campus from the visual arts department, where Sansa worked as a temporary receptionist.

 

Sansa’s face flushed. She could already hear her mother admonishing her that it was rude to assign even a flattering nickname to a man whose proper name she had not bothered to learn, especially since he had helped her to retrieve the belongings she had inadvertently spilled in front of him while tripping on her way to the back of the bus on the first day she had ever ridden it. But Sansa had been too flustered to ask for the man’s name at the time and too embarrassed since. She had, after all, spent two years being belittled and insulted nonstop by her vile ex-boyfriend Joffrey Baratheon and his equally vile mother, Cersei Lannister. When Sansa had dared to leave Joffrey, Cersei had used her political clout to drive her five hundred leagues north out of King’s Landing University to godsforsaken Wintertown to start over as best she could. Sansa would dare any girl to pester a strange man for his name after that.

 

Sansa picked up the glasses and sighed again. It was a bitterly cold day even for North Westeros, and besides that, if she chased Mr. Professor down, she would certainly be late for work. However, she could not very well strand him on campus without his glasses. She pulled the cord, secured the glasses as best she could inside the broadcloth satchel she’d sewn for herself, and waited until the bus reached the next stop. She shuffled gingerly along the sidewalk as fast as she could until she reached the enormous engineering complex, looked wildly around her, and sighed with relief as she spotted his familiar head of dark curls in front of a reception desk.

 

“Sir!” she called, but he took no notice, even after she repeated herself twice. There was no help for it, so she reached out and gingerly tapped him on the arm. He whirled around, and Sansa flinched out of instinct. She half expected to meet a fist and Joffrey’s raging blue eyes when she willed herself to look up, but Mr. Professor’s hands were tucked neatly into his pockets, and his eyes were brown and deep and giving her a concerned look.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked, and Sansa’s cheeks reddened. It took a couple of moments for her to reach into her bag and fish out the glasses.

 

“You left these on the bus,” she murmured, and held them out as far from her body as she could without looking like an idiot. She probably did look like an idiot, but Mr. Professor didn’t seem to mind. His eyes lit up with relief at once.

 

“Thank you,” he replied. His voice was as warm as his eyes. When he reached out to retrieve the glasses, his fingers brushed lightly against hers. Sansa surprised herself by managing not to flinch. She shrugged instead.

 

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I figured you’d want them, anyway.”

 

Mr. Professor beamed at her. “Aye,” he said, and Sansa felt a rush of warmth loosen the knot that had gathered in her chest when he had turned to face her. “You really saved me with that one. I appreciate not having to haul back out there for these.” He tilted his head toward the door, and as he straightened it his eyes narrowed.

 

“Can I ask if that’s handmade?” he queried, gesturing toward Sansa’s bag. She nodded.

 

“Aye,” she said, testing the very northern word for the first time. She liked the feel of it.

 

The man smiled again. Sansa noticed that one corner of his lips turned just a bit more than the other, and one of his teeth was just a bit crooked. Many of the girls in King’s Landing would have turned up their noses at such an unrefined, stubble-ridden face. But then, those girls were the ones who gushed like fountains about Joffrey’s clean chin and blinding white sneer.

 

“May I ask where you got it?” asked Mr. Professor, and Sansa blushed again.

 

“I – I made it myself,” she replied. He raised both eyebrows, and Sansa thought he might laugh at her. Instead, he cocked his head again. His hand drifted upward to rub the back of his neck, which suddenly looked pinker than it had a few moments before.

 

“Do – I – do you make them for other people, too?” he asked. Sansa shook her head.

 

“No,” she said quietly. His face fell, and she added, “Nobody’s ever asked me to, that is.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Professor stopped rubbing his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Would you consider making them? I – it’s two weeks before Christmas, and I never know what to get my sister. I think she’d really like something like this.”

 

Sansa stared at him for several moments. Anything handmade had been considered the height of poor taste in King’s Landing, and when Joffrey and Cersei had discovered her sewing a skirt for herself one day, they had ridiculed her mercilessly. She had not taken up the needle again until she had moved north, and then only to replace the battered leather satchel that had ruptured all over the floor of the bus.

 

“I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine.” The flush had spread upward and covered Mr. Professor’s face. “I’m not trying to be a creep or anything. Scout’s honor.”

 

Sansa, who had not heard that expression since her brother Robb had left home for university so many years ago, could not restrain her smile.

 

“No, it’s all right,” she began. The chiming of the massive historic clock in the building next door cut her off. She glanced at the wall clock, which informed her that her shift had just begun.

 

“Oh, bloody – oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, and reached over to fasten the flap on her bag. “I’m so sorry, but I’m late for work, and – ”

 

“Where do you work?” Mr. Professor asked, and Sansa told him. A slow grin spread across his face.

 

“Ah, so you work for Daenerys Targaryen,” he said, and Sansa nodded. The man turned and strode toward the reception desk, and Sansa, bewildered, trotted after him.

 

“Yara,” the man greeted the clearly bored woman behind the desk. She glanced up at him, smirked, and shot him a very saucy wink. Mr. Professor rolled his eyes.

 

“May I borrow the phone?” he asked, and Yara raised an eyebrow at him. “Please?” he added, rolling his eyes again, and Yara smiled sweetly and handed him the phone.

 

“Dragon Queen again?” she asked, and the man nodded. Yara punched a few buttons, and a moment later Sansa, horrified, heard her boss’s very distinct voice snap, “Yes?”

 

“Dany, it’s me,” the man said, giving Yara a long-suffering smile. “I have one of your employees here – um – ” His face flushed beet red as he turned to Sansa.

 

“Oh – Sansa Stark,” she said hastily.

 

Mr. Professor gave her a grateful smile. “Sansa Stark,” he continued. “I forgot my glasses on the bus this morning, and she graciously tracked me down when she found them, so she’ll be a bit late. She’s on her way, though.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “No, I will not watch your cats again tomorrow. Drogon bloody near bit my hand off last time. _No_ , Dany.” He sighed again. “I love you, too.” He nodded at Yara, who grinned and hit the cutoff button.

 

“Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to Sansa. “Don’t worry about being late; she’s completely fine with it. Says you’re one of her best employees, actually.” He blushed. “She’s not out to torment you, just me.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa blinked. “I didn’t realize you were married to my boss; I didn’t mean to cause either of you any trouble – ” She cringed when she realized how idiotic that sounded, but Mr. Professor only shook his head.

 

“Oh, gods, no,” he laughed, looking half amused and half horrified. “Dany’s my aunt. And her husband’s a saint. That’s why we get him so many gifts every Christmas.”

 

Sansa smiled. “So you’re a Targaryen, then?” she asked. The man’s face reddened again.

 

“Oh, for – I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “Off like an idiot and forgot to introduce myself. Jon Snow.” He offered her his hand, and this time Sansa felt much less like flinching when she touched it.

 

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said, and Jon’s lopsided grin reappeared.

 

“A pleasure to meet _you_ , Sansa Stark,” he replied. Sansa smiled back.

 

“I know you’re off to work and all,” Jon said after a moment, “but I really would like to ask more about your making one of those bags for Rhaenys – my sister – if you’re up for it, that is.” He nodded toward the wall clock. “What time is your lunch break?”

 

Sansa bit her lip. She’s spent every lunch break she’d had over the past eight months alone. Still, Jon had helped her when her bag had broken on the bus, and he’d ensured that she wouldn’t get into trouble for being late this morning.

 

“If you’re busy, it’s all right.” Jon’s voice had softened, and the concerned look had begun to edge back into his eyes. “If you’d like to talk about it at another time, we can – or, if you don’t, no problem.”

 

“No, it’s fine.” The words escaped Sansa’s mouth before she could trap them inside. “I don’t mind at all. Where do you want to go?”

 

Jon smiled, and it was bashful. So was Sansa’s answering smile, but she did not mind.

 

“Where would _you_ like to go?” he asked. Sansa felt the remnants of the knot in her chest begin to melt and swirl away, like snowflakes in the spring.


End file.
